How strange it seems, after this long lapse of time, to look back upon
those days, and after all that has come between. When I think of the
child whose curious fancies, strange whims, and still stranger life, I
am about to portray, I find myself inclining towards what is certainly a
feeling of bewilderment, and one that might almost be said to be akin to
physical pain. That the little fellow I see in my mind's eye, playing so
happily on the far side of that River of Years, can be _myself_, the man
sitting in this chair, who, pen in hand, is trying so hard to arrange
his thoughts, is to me scarcely believable. Between the two there looms
so vast a difference, that it would appear as if no possible connecting
link could serve to unite them with each other. Whether I am better or
worse for the change must be left for more competent judges to declare.

Looking back, I can scarcely determine which is the first event in my
life that I can recall. I have always declared that I have the very
faintest recollection of being held up by my mother at a window to see
my father present some new colours to his favourite regiment of Guards
in the square below. But if, as they say, that occurrence happened
exactly five-and-twenty years ago, and the records of the Regiment are
there to prove it, my memory must be a more than ordinarily good one,
seeing that, at the time, I could not have been more than three years of
age. Imperfect though that recollection may be, however, it is quite
certain that I can distinctly recall the day, two years later, when my
brother, the Crown Prince Maximilian, being then a big boy of nine, led
his regiment past my father on parade for the first time. I can also
remember crying bitterly, because I was not permitted to accompany him,
which eagerness on my part, so I have been informed since, was taken by
my mother's Ladies-in-Waiting to be a sign that a great military career
awaited me. That I have never so far justified either their hopes or
their good opinion of me must be set down by the charitably-minded as
the result of a lack of opportunity. In a sense, however, I must confess
it has proved almost true, but how it came about will be told in its
proper place. In the meantime, having a long story to tell, and not much
space to tell it in, it is necessary that I should return to my earliest
recollections with as much speed as possible.

To enter upon my story proper, it is only fit that I should commence
with a brief description of the life of my poor father. Maximilian the
Second, King of Pannonia, as all the world is aware, was a monarch
foredoomed to trouble from his cradle. His succession to the throne was
the result of an accident. But for a fatal shot, fired in the excitement
of a wolf hunt, and which stretched the heir lifeless upon the snow, he
would in all human probability never have been called upon to undertake
the responsibilities for which he was, not only by nature, but also by
inclination, so totally unfitted. A scholar of the finest type,
essentially a recluse, more at his ease in his library than in the
Council Chamber, happier when holding a pen than when carrying a sword,
I must admit it is to me a matter of wonderment that he succeeded even
as well as he did. A loveless marriage, thrust upon him by the
exigencies of State, when his inclinations tended in another and very
different direction, marked the next downward step in his career. My
mother was the eldest daughter of Alexander the Tenth, King of Gothia,
and was as ambitious as my father was the reverse. Where he was only too
glad to find an opportunity of effacing himself, she, at first, boldly
courted the admiration of the world. Among other things, she insisted
upon all the extremes of court ceremonial being observed, and under her
rule the sleepy old palace woke to new life. Neighbouring Sovereigns
were repeatedly our guests, entertainment followed entertainment, each
conducted on the most lavish scale, until the country, which at first
had inclined towards applause, began to show unmistakable signs of
disapproval. Things were said in the Reichsrath that should have enabled
any one less absorbed in his own private affairs than my father, and
less wilful than my mother, to have seen how foolish was the course each
was pursuing. When, eventually, the Prime Minister of the day, the Count
von Marquart, ventured upon a remonstrance, my mother cut him short with
a hasty speech that was destined to rankle in his heart and to lay the
foundation-stone of the misunderstanding that, for the rest of their
lives, existed between them. Fortunately, however, for the affairs of
men, Time is able to accomplish what argument and diplomacy cannot hope
to achieve. The duties of motherhood, and a long and serious illness,
which followed my advent into the world, put it out of her power to
adhere to the dangerous course she had hitherto been running. Much to
everyone's surprise, when she was fully recovered, it was found that the
craving for excitement, which she had formerly possessed, had completely
left her. The change, however, as is so often the case, came too late;
the mischief was already done. The Pannonians as a race are, so it has
been said, amongst the most undemonstrative of the inhabitants of
Europe. It is possible that this may be so. I am not going to admit or
to combat the accusation. This much, however, is quite certain: if they
are phlegmatic, they are also retentive; and, having once derived an
impression, or allowed themselves to become prejudiced in any given
direction, they seldom, if ever, return to their original condition. For
this reason, while the change in my mother was apparent to all who were
brought into immediate contact with her, and by hearsay to many who were
not, the greater proportion of the populace were of the opinion that
every calamity that befell the nation for years to come was
attributable, either directly or by inference, to her recklessness and
her extravagance in the past. That the great ceremonials and
festivities, balls, concerts, and hunting parties, were no longer to be
witnessed by the public eye, was, in their minds, no sort of proof that
they did not exist. With the strange perversity that so often
characterises the actions of a nation, those who had been most dazzled
and delighted when she had lifted the sombre old court life from its
former stagnation into its then glittering effervescence now constituted
themselves her most bitter accusers. Thus the inevitable drew nearer,
while my mother attended to her nursery with as much devotion as could
have been displayed by any _bourgeoise_ parent, and my father pored over
his books in the north-west tower of the palace, translating Ovid when
he should have been pulling at the ropes of Government, and enjoying the
selfish pleasures of the student when he should have been endeavouring
to prevent the ship of State from foundering. The country, being
delivered over to the mercy of party politics, rushed blindly on towards
the maelstrom that was to engulf it, and with it our devoted family.

Having thus formally introduced my father and mother to your notice, it
is necessary that I should now perform the same ceremony for my brother
and myself. Surely two lads were never more different. Max, the Crown
Prince, was, as I have already remarked, my senior by four years, and
the incarnation, so far as I was concerned, of all that was manly and
heroic. At the time of which I am about to tell you, and which was the
turning point of our fortunes, he was twelve years old, advanced for his
age, and showing promise of development into a tall and powerful man. In
face he resembled our mother more than our father; he had her dark,
piercing eyes, and, if the truth must be told, he was also gifted with a
very large amount of her imperiousness and love of power. It was said
that he was a born ruler of men, and some went even so far as to predict
that when he ascended the throne, Pannonia, under his influence, would
resume her proper place as the leading nation of the earth. But, alas!
how strangely things fall out. That which we count a certainty seldom
comes to pass, while it has become a commonplace amongst us that the
unexpected nearly, if not always, happens. As an example, I must put on
record an incident as strange as, at the time, it was disconcerting.

One day Max and I, accompanied by our tutor, were riding on the road
that leads from the city towards the village of Schartzvam, at the foot
of the mountains. Five miles from home, the pony Max was riding cast a
shoe, and it became necessary for us to call a halt at a blacksmith's
shop, in order that the defect might be remedied. We had dismounted, and
were standing at the door watching the work in hand, when a party of
gipsies made their appearance in the street. The majority had passed us
and turned the corner; only a withered beldame, hobbling along with the
assistance of a stick, remained behind. On seeing us she paused, and,
addressing Max, asked for charity. Upon his giving her a coin she
inquired whether he would like his fortune told in return. Doctor
Liechardt, feeling a certain responsibility in the matter, was about to
order her away, but Max, who had always a touch of the mystical and
romantic in his character, begged him to allow her to remain.

"She shall tell my fortune," he said, taking some money from his pocket
and handing it to the old woman. "Who knows but that she may be able to
give me a hint which may some day be of use to me?"

The worthy doctor, who never willingly thwarted Max in anything, was
perforce compelled to agree. Accordingly he held out his hand, and the
old crone took it. For a few moments she studied its lines attentively.

"You have started on good terms with the world," she began at last.
"Fortune favours you now, but the time will come when she will not, and
you will be obliged to go on your way alone. You have a proud heart, and
desire great things. When the time is ripe, you will walk rough paths,
and will travel to a far country. Your dreams will go with you, but,
when you return, it will be too late. Your heart's desire will have
passed from you. I can say no more."

"You have not said very much," replied Max, with what I could not help
noticing was not his usual laugh. "Nor is what you _have_ told me
encouraging. However, I suppose it will prove as true as most of your
prophecies. And now, Paul, you